The Dark Ages
by Advanced Placement Hetalia
Summary: A series of historically accurate tales, set from the bubonic age to pre-Renaissance times. For History/AP geeks.


**The Dark Ages-Gascony's tale**

A/N: Yes this is a Hetalia fic, no this isn't a typical one. There will be history, and facts and reality, so turn back if you dare~~~~ ohhh!

* * *

"I refuse to speak like he does!" the boy whined.

Calais watched her brother pace and grumble, she sighed "But Edward III has become a vassal of our king, surely you can try to learn some English?"

"You would not understand! You are still free, free to be with out brother, and I cannot allow myself to ally with such a man, his mother did all the work for him you know! Put onto the throne by that crazy Isabella, how could I let such a man rule me?"

Gascony crawled onto his luxurious bed, yet another gift from his "master". "He wouldn't even pay homage to big brother's master..."

"Philip II is nothing great either.." Calais gripped Gascony hand and smiled.

"I've come to see you because I might not be able to for awhile..It will be hard in your duchy, you need a friend, just try okay?"

Gascony turned away from his sister "It won't last long...the war will be over and we can all play together again..."

Calais smiled sadly "Yes I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

They would not see each other for another 22 years.

* * *

Long bows. He hated them. The Black Prince. He loathed him. Edward the III. When he thought of him and his wretched mother his vision would become blurry and red and the "Kings" advisers would tell him to lay down.

It had been too long. He wondered how Calais was doing, he had heard her land was being ravaged by that damned black prince, he hoped she wasn't hurt..what was big brother doing? He could almost hear her small black shoes clip clop across the floor. All he heard was the metal clink of armor?

A strong pair of arms grabbed and hugged Gascony from behind. "GAH!"

"It's a truce! A truce dear brother!" Gascony saw Calais leaping before him, dressed in cold grey armor, unfitting of her warm personality and yellow pigtails.

"What ARE you wearing you silly girl?"

She pouted "It's NOT silly, I've needed to defend myself you know! Even with the Peace of Britigny your people are still set to plundering!"

"They're not MY people they're my **bloody** masters!"

Calais giggled "You spoke English.."

Despite being so happy to see her, the impulse to strangle his younger sibling had never been so strong.

* * *

Gascony recalled a visit, from a manifestation like him. Of the country he loathed the most: England.

They had set up a tea time, one that Gascony made sure was thoroughly uncomfortable for his "master"

"So what's it like to be under the thumb of a mother's pet?"

England's eyebrows knit into a v. "Isabella did what she had to do, your older brother _asked_ for this war."

Gascony tossed his tea to the ground "And you didn't? You're just as arrogant as I supposed you to be!"

England seemed to shrink into himself "I was hoping we could be friends.."

"Wait another plague or two, maybe by then your people will be dead and I'll be rid of you!"

England placed his tea cup on the table before grabbing and stuffing sweets into his pockets. "Think what you will, but I will never let my people be stepped on, least of all by the bloody french!"

He ran out of the room, muttering musings about black magic and sorcery.

Gascony sat on his bed, the tea soaking though the white carpet unopposed.

* * *

The next few years were unsettling, and Gascony was lonelier than ever. Calais hadn't visited him in the years past due to the Northern marriage of Catherine of Valois (daughter of Charles VI) and his newest master Henry V.

He couldn't believe that he could hate anyone more than Edward, except maybe England, who hadn't visited since their last tea time.

Two pairs of footsteps echoed in his hallway, one metallic and one graceful. Company.

Calais burst through the door "Gascony my brother, I have a friend I'd like you to meet!"

A woman with strict and fierce green eyes, met his gaze. She had the looks of an Italian, but spoke her greeting in his tongue.

"This" Calais flourished a hand "is Christine de Pizan, I'm sure you've heard of Joan by now?"

"Who?"

Calais frowned. "Still cooped up in your tower hm princess?"

Gascony stuck out his tongue.

"She is our salvation Gascony" the Italian woman spoke "A knight of France given direction by the heavens themselves.

"She might save big brother Gascony! Think about it!"

Gascony did, and he held this new hope close to his heart.

* * *

He recorded her death in 1431 when she was burned by his new master–the day he gave up hoping.

* * *

But somehow through everything she HAD prevailed, even in death her influence had ended Gascony's traumatic hundred years.

France invited all of his siblings to a Feast. Big boys had feasts and not play-dates after all.

The table was seated with all of his siblings and France himself–all except one. Calais seat remained empty the entire night.

"Where has she gone?" he had asked France.

France gripped his younger brother shoulder "England took her..I'm sorry I couldn't keep everybody..."

After everything she was the one now captured. She, the optimist, did not deserve this. Gascony had cried when his brother had told him the news. France had gathered the tired boy in his arms, as they grieved for the loss of their sister.

* * *

This time a century would come and go before he would see her again, his beloved Calais.

* * *

Review~~~


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